A Shadow in Passing
by Jiia-chan
Summary: Your mouth moved. Words came out. The air vibrated, sending those words to my ear. I heard. My ear translated those vibrations into sounds, and my brain turned those into words. It gave them meaning. It made them important. Even if they weren't. LXL Lemon
1. Chapter 1

A Shadow in Passing

AN: Mwahahaha. More lovely angst. As if you couldn't guess. This fanfiction... Has raged out of control. And you know why? It's a chapter fic, and it's finished. Amazing, is it not? And it's not even a drabble chapter fic like the Plushie!!! It's a REAL chapter fic!! Mwahahaha!!! There are six chapters... Although there might be 7, if you people bribe me with enough reviews. Much thanks goes to the lovely SlvrSoleAlchmst1, my beta, who should know better than to tell me that being thanked in the author's notes embarasses her. OH! And just because... Yes or no? There is no question. Just answer.

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"I love you."

Your mouth moved. Words came out. The air vibrated, sending those words to my ear. I heard. My ear translated those vibrations into sounds, and my brain turned those into words. It gave them meaning. It put significance to them. It made them important.

Even if they weren't.

I heard what you were saying, and I assumed, in all my endless naiveté, that because you were saying it, you meant it. I could not believe that you would lie, because I could not have lied. I could never have lied. I simply can't. And so I heard, and I understood, and I believed.

So when you kissed me, I made it as proof that you loved me, and I allowed you to take me farther than I had ever gone. I allowed you to stick your tongue in my mouth, even though it was disgusting and I hated it, because you loved me. I allowed you to rip my shirt off, quite literally, even though it was my favourite shirt and it hurt to have you pull on it so hard. I allowed you to see the scrawny, bone-thin fire-scared body I had never let anyone see before. I allowed you to touch it. Touch me. Trace the faded lines of pain across my chest.

Because you loved me.

I let you shove me back onto the bed, yanking off your own shirt even as I fell. You came down on top of me, pinned me down and pushed me into the mattress and all your weight was on me and it was so hard to breath but I let you do it anyways. I let you crush every limb, every organ, every cell of my being until all that was left of me was what you had taken into yourself. You took me and made me from a person into little more than another limb, an extension of yourself. I let you make me into nothing.

Because you loved me.

You shoved your hand down my pants, not even bothering to undo the buttons before you were ripping them up too. You effectively destroyed my entire wardrobe without even a moment's thought. And I let you. You seemed to know what you were doing, so I just sat back and let you do your thing. Your hands were everywhere, tracing up and down my sides and over my chest and between my legs and it was like the fire, like I was on fire again and you were the flames and you were consuming me just like you had before. Only it wasn't you. It was fire and gasoline and the laughter of the sadistic bastard I called 'Daddy'. And I screamed and shoved you off and you were yelling too, 'what's the matter, what's the matter, what the FUCK is wrong with you?!'

And I was six years old, curled up in the corner and he's saying the exact same thing.

'_What the FUCK is wrong with you? What the FUCK kind of six year old can do multiplication in his head?'_

_'It's not multiplication.' _I say, because I don't know any better_. 'It's calculus. Can't you tell the difference?'_

And then he doesn't say anything else. He doesn't have to. His eyes and the leather belt in his hand say more than enough.

You've found those scars now too. You've got your arms around me, hugging me to your chest, and your fingers are tracing them down my back. You've seen my back now, I realize. Can you ever think of me the same again, after seeing something like that? After seeing my sins etched out in dead tissue on skin too pale to be natural? I don't want you to look. I don't want you to touch. I don't want you to know.

But I let you.

Because you loved me.

You want an explanation, I know. You want to know why I whimper at your touch, why I flinch away, why I cry when you get too close. But I don't want to tell you, because if I told you, then I couldn't hide it anymore. Then everyone will see. You understand. You have things you don't want everyone to know too. You have hurt that you never let show. Just like I do. We're the same, you and I. I'm the dark, and you're the light.

I'm so clever.

And then I've stopped crying and you're hands are on me again and you're touching me in all the places only one person has ever touched and that wasn't even me. But this time I'm not scared. This time I know I'm not going to get hurt. This time I know that the fire will only warm, not burn. I know, because we're the same, and I would never hurt you.

It feels good. Different than sugar and cake, different than winning. But good. And then great. And then so horrendously agreeable that I can barely comprehend it. You're inside me, suddenly, thrusting and twisting and I wonder silently to myself, _when did that happen? _But then it doesn't matter because you're hitting something inside and you're hand is on me and nothing has ever been so overwhelmingly good as this.

And then you're kissing me, and saying my name without even bothering to stop, so my own name is in my mouth and I'm hearing it almost like I'm the one saying it.

And then something snaps inside and everything is nothing. Not dark. Not light. Just endless nothing, where everything's been cancelled out and there isn't anything to think about at all.

And for once, I stop. For once, I let my mind go blank. For once, I can dream without having nightmares of flames and laughter and the smell of gasoline. For once, I am at peace within my own head.

And then you wake me up.

"Come on. I wanna get in another round before the others show up."

And your hand is between my legs again, and you're on top of me again, and you're getting ready to be inside me again and I still haven't figured out what happened the first time around, and I want to stop and ask you but you're already hard and, I realize, so am I.

And then you're fucking me, using the leftovers of an orgasm I hadn't even realized you'd had to ease your way, and I let you.

I let you.

Because you said you loved me, and that has to count for something.

Even if you lied.


	2. Chapter 2

I'm using you.

I know it, and you know it too, and you know that I know. This is nothing but release, nothing more than pretty words and thoughtless actions. You know it. I know it.

But I know something else too.

You're never going to do anything to stop it. You've given in to it. You've come to realize that this is the way things are. People like me take control of people like you and we use them however we want, until we don't need you any more. You just have to take it and pray that you don't outlive your usefulness before you're ready to be tossed aside.

It saddens me that I can't be the one to teach you.

It's just too easy that way. It wasn't nearly enough of a challenge to satisfy me. You'd already been trained. Where's the fun in taming a tame beast? But it made you interesting too. It was amusing to see just how far down your conditioning went. Finding out what your commands were, what buttons did what, how to make you heed my every command. It was like taking a program and analysing it from the basic code without any idea as to what that program was supposed to do.

The results were fantastic. Whoever had programmed you had wanted the same thing as me. They were severely lacking in imagination, and there were some bugs in the code, but the framework was solid. Executing basic commands like ://strip and ://suckit yielded pleasant results, to say the least. Knowing that I hadn't been the first to use them gave me no pause. Used programs are just as good as new.

://Iloveyou turned out to be the most interesting of all. No matter what protests you thought to use, no matter how many firewalls you put up against me, all I had to do was say three little words and all of them would just fall away. It was like a password. Total access at the drop of a lie.

But security was surprisingly low once I hacked my way into your system. Almost nothing was encrypted. I guess you thought your freak-factor firewall would be enough to keep anyone out. It's sound reasoning, I suppose. If no one can even understand your code, why bother encrypting it?

But I could understand. I know what it's like, being smarter than everyone else. Being hated because of it. No one ever lit me on fire, but the idea's the same. We're a cut above, and people keep trying to cut us down. You appreciate that, I think. That we're the same. That I can understand you, even if you sometimes can't.

But no matter how hard you try, you can never understand me. I'm the superior OS. Your system just can't deal. I subvert you and make you a slave drive, displaying only the information I want you to, thinking only what I choose. I've hacked you, Mr. Detective. Even if your original user was to come back, you'd still be completely under my control.

But enough with the computer metaphor. As well as it works, it can only take us so far. A subverted computer will stay subverted until someone comes along and fixes the programming. People aren't like that. People will eventually get sick of following their commands and fix it themselves. You'll rise up against me one day, my lovely friend. And when you do, you'd better be ready. Because on that day, you will have outlived your usefulness, and I shall no longer need you.

On that day, you shall die.


	3. Chapter 3

It's been a week since this all started. Seven days, four hours, twenty seven minutes.

Fifty six seconds.

But hey, who's counting?

We've done it a total of nine times. Twice on the first day, and twice just now. If you'd had your way, the number would have been in the hundreds. I've heard the stories about the inexhaustible sex drive of a teenage boy, but your appetite for amicable relations is far beyond anything I've ever imagined. I just can't keep up with you.

"Lucky for us," you said, the first time you wanted some and I couldn't get it up, "you don't have to be hard for me to fuck you."

I didn't say anything. How do you respond to something like that? _It doesn't matter if you're getting nothing from this, as long as I get mine. _It sounded like something _he_ would say. Something said only to hurt, to make me into something less than human, even within my own mind. You had become Father Dearest all over again.

It's the same. The exact same. And I know exactly what's going to happen, because I've been down this road before. I know.

And yet…

I'll never make it change.

Because I want this. As sick and twisted as it may seem, as perverted as you may think I am, I want this. I want the humiliation. I want the sadness and the anger and the fear. I want the pain. I want it all.

Because pain is better than nothing.

It's masochism at its finest, I know. Getting hurt to feel good. Except it doesn't feel good, not really. And it's certainly not doing anything for my libido. It's just better than the total emptiness I feel otherwise.

And besides, now I can have nightmares about something other than… him.

I can have nightmares about you.

Speak of the devil. You're dreaming right now, lying beside me. It looks like a nightmare at first, but no, I know better. You really are a machine. Any minute now you're going to wake up and then I'd better be ready, because you're not even going to ask.

I hate it.

I hate it.

I hate YOU, you BASTARD!

I put my foot to your wrist and I push. Stainless steel stretches and snaps, and so does something else, bone, I think. I really don't care. The chain is broken and I am _free_, up and running and almost at the door but then I stop.

Because you told me to.

"RYUU!! STOP."

Your mouth moves. Words come out. The air vibrates, sending those words to my ear. I hear. My ear translates those vibrations into sounds, and my brain turns those into words. It gives them meaning. It puts significance to them. It makes them important.

Even if they aren't.

I sink to my knees. I'm beginning to shake. I curl around myself, hands over my head, face in the carpet and ass in the air. Just like I know you want me. I could just get up and run, but I can't. I won't.

I don't want to.

You're behind me, now. If I had been wearing any pants, you would be ripping them off. As it is, your hand is on my hip, and it's so cold that it makes me shiver. You lean over me, pressing your strangely chill chest up against my too-warm back, and whisper in my ear.

"You've been bad, Ryuu. Very bad."

You've got your broken hand draped over my shoulder like it's a hug. I can see it. It's already starting to swell. It needs medical attention, but you aren't going to get any. At least not until you're done.

I know you. You're as much of a masochist as I am.

"What do we do to bad boys, Ryuu?" You're pushing into me now, not really entering, just letting me know beyond a shadow of a doubt that the only preparation I'm going to get is our little pep talk.

"We punish them." I whisper back.

Because that's what you want me to say.

And then it hurts again, and for a little while, I can feel.


	4. Chapter 4

You whore.

You _fucking_ whore.

How _dare_ you? How _dare_ you touch me? Break me? How _dare_ you?

I'm going to make you wish you'd never been born.

But then again, it won't be that hard. It's easy really. The seeds of rebellion are so delicate and fragile. They make a wonderful sound when crushed.

I'm going to thoroughly enjoy breaking you.

To be honest, it's a happy surprise. I hadn't thought you had any fight left in you. For once, I'm glad I was wrong.

You're skin is so hot. You must be running a fever or something. I swear, if you give me some sort of disease I will never forgive you. Not that it'll matter much. By the time any infection shows itself, you'll already be dead. Maybe that's why you're trembling so much. You know you're gonna die.

Apparently, that turns you on. You're hard as a rock, for the first time in ages. I didn't think it really made a difference before, but oh boy, does it sure make a difference now! You're clamping down on me just when I'm pulling out, and without any lube, it's almost like sandpaper. It hurts.

I can only imagine what it must be like for you.

It must hurt so much.

But hey, I'm in pain too. You broke my wrist. What possessed you to snap the chain, you moron? You have the key! You could have just unlocked the chain and made good your escape. I would never have been the wiser. If you wanted to escape, why hadn't you just done that?

But maybe you didn't want to escape.

Maybe you wanted me to do this.

You're more twisted than I thought. Who the hell wants to get raped? What kind of sick pervert _wants_ to get fucked into the carpeting?

_What kind of sick pervert wants to fuck you into the carpet in the first place?_

I pause momentarily. Did you notice? Probably not. You're too busy moaning your pretty little head off. You're enjoying this, aren't you? This is what you want. This isn't a punishment, it's a reward.

Oh, you're good.

L, you are one good son of a bitch.

But I'm better.

I shove you forward, right off of me, pushing your face right into the carpet fuzz. I get up and waltz over to the bed, laughing because… Well, I don't really know. It's funny, I suppose. You almost had me, but I wouldn't let you. I didn't let you win.

I climb back into bed, ignoring the fact that I'm still hard. You're just lying there on the floor, right where I left you. It's almost like you're already dead.

"Go ahead and run, you little maggot. You don't want me, then fine. Go find someone else to fuck you." I smile as I shoot you down, smirking like the sadistic bastard I am, and turn my back on you.

If you leave, well then, good. You're too damn complicated anyways. As much as I like winning against someone so close to my level, it's just not worth the broken bones.

Speaking of which, how am I going to take care of my little problem? You broke my good hand. Using the other hand is just awkward. An inconvenience, that's what you are. I'll be glad when you're gone.

But then the bed sags behind me, and I feel you getting back in. I lay on my back, and without me even having to tell you, you're fuzzy black head is just disappearing under the sheets.

That's what I love about you. You know when I wanna order you around, and you know when I don't.

What did I just say?

It's just a figure of speech.

Just words.

They're not important.


	5. Chapter 5

The others bought your cover story. They were all too eager to believe that you got yourself hurt during one of our tussles. It's not too far from the truth, really. And you lie so very well. Why wouldn't they believe you?

Would they believe me if I told them what you really were? If I told them what you were doing to me every night, would they believe me?

Of course not.

I knew from the very beginning that you were too perfect to be real. That's how I knew, right from the get go. I knew you were Kira. Everyone has something good and everyone has something bad, all in equal measure. I am the way I am to pay for the gift I've been given. The price I've paid is written all over me. But yours… Your price isn't so obvious.

After all, how do you see someone's soul?

I still have my soul. I still have something left to give.

I still have something left to sell.

Are you listening, Lucifer? I'm ready to make a deal.

Make me strong. Make me hard.

Make me like you.

If I was stronger, better, more confident in myself, the way you are, then maybe I'd be able to leave. If I wasn't so scared of the nothing still hiding inside me, then maybe I'd finally be able to break away.

But I can't.

Because you're the only one I feel anything for. You're the only one who can stir the feelings I left behind so long ago. You're the only one who can make me feel at all. And I don't want to lose that.

Even hate is better than nothing.

So I picked myself up off the floor and I slipped back in bed and I put my head between your legs and I prayed that you'd take me back.

The hate festers and burns inside me. It's even stronger now than the hate I feel for him. He's dead and gone, and you're still here, and I can't make you go away. But I have a feeling that I'd hate you more no matter what. Even if he were still alive and right here for me to see, I'd probably hate you more.

Because for all the sick crap he did to me, he never once told me a lie.

Not ever.

But you lie. You lie to me every day. Every time you want some and I don't, you lie and I let you and I fall for it because no one ever said that to me before. No one ever said _I love you_.

But you do.

And you lie.

And that means something. That means a whole lot. That means the difference between _used_ and _abused_. You lie to me, you hurt me and then lie about it, and that means that you _know_ that what you're doing is wrong. You don't need to lie if you don't think you need to cover it up. If you really thought it was your right to treat me the way you do, you wouldn't need to lie about it.

It makes me angry. It makes me so angry, I can barely think. The lowest of the low never once lied to me, but you do it every day, and with the same ease with which you lie to the others.

But I still can't leave you. I still need you. I need you to feel. I just can't walk away from the only thing that matters any more.

But when I hear you say those three little words, I start to think that I can.

I start to think that I have no other choice.


	6. Chapter 6

You've stopped talking to me.

Everyone else has noticed by now. Even stupid little Matsuda. Do you _want_ them to find out? Do you _want _them to know? Because at the rate you're going, it's pretty much inevitable. People like you don't just stop talking for no apparent reason.

That bugs me too. Why are you so angry? It's not what happened last night. You were fine this morning. As far as I know, I haven't done anything insulting since then. There is no logical explanation for your anger, and it bothers me.

It's like suddenly discovering that your computer has grown a brain of its own and has decided to ignore you completely. It's just going along, doing its own thing, with no thought to your frantic banging on the keyboard. It's incomprehensible.

I need to get you alone, talk to you, find out what has gotten into your creepy little brain and dig it out before the virus can spread. Or at least, force you into telling me your name so I can knock you off. It's a shame, but I always knew I'd have to kill you eventually.

I get my chance that night, after the others have all gone to sleep, and we should be too, but we're still sitting there in front of the computer bank, staring at the monitors we know full well aren't going to show us anything. The chain's been replaced. Everything is back to normal. Except you still aren't speaking.

"So, Ryuu." I say, keeping my eyes on the screens. "Would you care to explain to me just why you've suddenly decided to get all pissy on me?"

Silence. Like you would have ever responded to that dumb-ass question in the first place. What in the world was I thinking?

I turn my eyes towards you. Not my head, mind you, just my eyes. Like you don't deserve that much effort. You get it. Even though you don't look at me, I know you understand. I can read you well enough by now to figure out that much.

"Talk, Ryuu." I command you. Not ask. Command.

"No." You answer back. I smirk.

"You just did."

"Leave me alone." You pull your legs closer to your chest. Defensive is good. I can deal with defensive.

I change tactics, leaning over, manoeuvring my entire body so that I'm eye to eye with you. I grab your chin, not rough but not too terribly gentle either, and force you to look at me.

"Hey, no need to get snippy. I just wanna know what's wrong, that's all." I smile, turn on the charm, lean in for a kiss.

You slap me.

I freeze.

You're staring at me, and there is rage in your eyes. Honest to God rage, burning away like bright little fires.

I've never seen you angry.

This is it. This is the tipping point, the moment when you cease to be of use. The moment when I can either get rid of you or lose everything, everything I've worked so hard for. I need to get your name, and then I need to kill you. Or maybe I'll just do it with my bare hands, save the Death Note for the rest of the task force. That way I don't need your name.

I grab hold of your hands so you can't slap me again. I want to transfer both of them into one, or maybe find some way of tying you up with the chain, so I can have my hands free. That's the plan.

But the plan doesn't work. It fails utterly, and for one simple reason.

I never carry it out.

I grab your hands and I use them to pull you to me, not even noticing the pain in my wrist, and I've got you sitting in my lap, and I'm kissing you, and I don't even know why. I didn't mean to. I just did. And now my fingers are slipping in between yours, even though I never told them to, and there's something different in the way I'm kissing you, different from any other time I've done it before. There's something else in it, something other than the usual lust and anger and that little taste of desperation. Something I don't really recognize.

You shove me off. It's a lot easier to do when you're the one on top. You stare at me for a moment, and the rage is burning even brighter. You slip of the chair. Put your hand in your pocket. Pull out a key.

At least you're not trying to break the chain again.

Your end of the chain clatters to the floor. Neither of us look at it.

You take a step backwards. And then another. And then you turn and start walking away, your back suddenly straight, your hands by your side, a normal person hiding under your familiar skin. The firewall is down, but I somehow know I can't get in.

Your hand is on the doorknob when I finally leap from the chair, shouting something without even really knowing what I'm saying.

"Wait!" My words echoes through the empty room.

You pause. It has nothing to do with the programming. The programming doesn't work anymore. You're humouring me, I realize. I should feel embarrassed by this, being tolerated by my little bitch, but some how, that description no longer seems valid.

"I…" My voice is shaking.

I'm stammering. Since when do I stammer?

"I… I love you."

And then my heart stops.

I've said it too many times. I hadn't even noticed when it began to change.

The handle turns.

The underscores went away, and then the backslashes and the colon, and all I was left with were three little words.

The door swings open.

"I love you."

You step through.

I realize what's happened to me.

The door clicks shut.

But by now it's too late.

You're already gone.

My mouth moves. Words come out. The air vibrates, sending those words off into the empty room. They bounce back into my ears. I hear. My ear translates those vibrations into sounds, and my brain translates those sounds back into words. They have meaning. They have significance. They are important.

Because I love you.

I really do.


End file.
